The Icequeen Cometh
by Michelle Birkby
Summary: My version of how Bobby and Alex first met. Hints of Bobby and Alex Shippiness. Warning for very strong language right from the beginning and scenes of a violent nature.
1. Another One

I've only seen season one and two of Criminal Intent, so apologies if some of the back story is wrong. (C'mon Five and Hallmark, show the rest of it!). Warnings for language, and other disgsuting scenes.

* * *

**The Ice-Queen Cometh**

"He's fucking crazy!"

Goren could hear the shouting right across the squad room. Everyone could hear it. Hell, they could probably hear it right down the corridor and into the other squad rooms. Goren stared studiously down at his pad, and continued to write, but all he was producing was meaningless scribbles. He heard the low murmur of Deakins's voice as he tried calm Goren's partner – _former_ partner – down, but he was interrupted by the door of his office slamming. Goren's latest partner was gone, and Deakins stood by Goren's desk, sighing.

"Can I have a word, Lt. Goren?" he asked, calmly as always. Meekly, Bobby followed him to the office, and carefully shut the door behind him.

"Looks like you lost another, Bobby." Deakin said, sitting down.

"I don't know what happened." Goren told him, spreading his hands helplessly. Deakins sighed. He liked Bobby. He really did. But he was also aware that Bobby had his own little quirks. And Bobby's 'little' quirks were bigger than everyone else's. And if Deakins had to work side by side with Goren all day, he'd probably want to kill him too.

"You've been through everyone in Major Crimes. There's no-one left to partner you." Deakins told him, not unsympathetically.

"Plenty of detectives work alone." Goren pointed out.

"I know. and normally, I would let you. It'd probably be better for everyone. But in this case, Goren, you need someone watching your back."

"Someone I can trust." Goren insisted. "And the list of people I trust is pretty short."

"And the list of people willing to work with you is non-existent. Look," Deakins sighed, "I know you're a good detective. Brilliant, even. I also know that you're an oddball." Deakins held up a hand to forestall Bobby's denial – or agreement. "And I do understand it's your more 'unconventional' methods that get the results. But do you think you could dial down the weirdness a bit?"

"I did. I really thought I did." Goren said helplessly. Deakins sighed, then looked down at the files on his desk. The murder victim's lives, every emotion, feeling, thought, every important moment, and non-important hour, everything that had made them human, alive, and loved was condensed down into those few slips of paper in the cardboard folder. Deakins wanted these cases closed, and peace given to the dead. That was all he ever wanted, and he knew Bobby Goren was the best way to achieve that. That man was driven, and brilliant, and Deakins would bend over backwards to accommodate the man's little oddities if it meant giving the dead and injured victims that crossed his desk everyday some form of justice.

"Some of these guys, they used prostitutes, right?" Deakins's asked, gesturing at the files.

"Yeah." Goren frowned, intrigued but puzzled. He hated upsetting Deakins, he really did, and he really had tried to behave properly this time. It was just…his mind ran away from him, and he couldn't control where it went…or what it made him do. "But so far, I've found no one prostitute in common with all of them."

"Maybe you just haven't been looking in the right place. Maybe you need help from the experts?" Deakins said, smiling a little.

Understanding swept over Goren's face.

"I should get myself a partner from Vice." Goren said.

"I can authorise that. And Bobby?" Deakins said as Goren headed for the door. "Try not to scare this one off in less than 24 hours, ok?".

Goren opened his mouth, as if to argue he never tried to scare anyone off, then shrugged silently and left. How he could promise not to scare someone off, when he scared himself sometimes?

* * *

Ten minutes later, Goren was in Vice, on the floor above Major Crimes, watching the captain take a call from Deakins. Goren stood in the captain's office, trying to look harmless, and succeeding only in looking shifty. The captain listened to Deakins and glanced at Goren suspiciously, as if afraid he'd come to steal the silver. The door was open, and Goren, an expert at seeing and hearing things he shouldn't, found himself listening to what was going on in the squad room.

In ten minutes he learnt more about human perversions than even he had thought possible. It was repulsive, but somehow fascinating. Bobby Goran had always been fascinated by the darker side of human nature, even as he struggled to fight it and defeat it in his work. Bit by bit, he edged towards the open door, straining to overhear the conversation. Then he heard someone say,

"Hey, the icequeen cometh." And, intrigued by the nickname, Bobby turned to look.

At first, he couldn't see anyone. Then one of the detectives scooted out of the way, and he saw the tiny little blonde striding across the room, the taller, stronger men parting to let her pass. She had obviously been undercover on the street, and was still dressed as a prostitute, in a tiny black skirt, but she didn't convince. She didn't look cheap, or for sale in any way. She was too elegant, too self-possessed. She was herding the perp in front of her, a huge man who seemed absolutely terrified. Bobby smiled at the display, the hulking giant terrified of the tiny little Princess.

"Sit down, shut up and don't move." She ordered the perp, and Bobby noticed most of the men in the room turn their backs and smirk at each other.

"Yeah, I got one." Goren heard the captain say behind him. "Perfect, in fact, my own little problem child." It wasn't said with any affection or tolerance, and Goren dreaded finding out who was going to be handed to him. "Her last partner quit too, two days ago, called her a heartless bitch, amongst other things. She's back on the street, and not happy about it. I'd be happy to dump her on someone else."

The captain put the phone down, and came over to Bobby. When he saw him still watching the little blonde, he smiled. It wasn't a happy smile.

"That's Alex Eames." The captain said. "Why don't you go over and play nice, and maybe she'll agree to be your new partner." He sat down as Bobby left the room. "Good luck!" he called, then muttered under his breath, "You'll need it."


	2. Nutjob and Icequeen

Warnings for language, and other disgusting scenes.

* * *

She'd seen him in the corridors of the building. She could hardly miss him. A tall, broad bear of a man, who looked like he'd be clumsy, but moved with an understated grace. He seemed uncomfortably aware of his size, and tried to compensate by speaking and walking softly. He'd absent-mindedly bumped into her once, and had apologised profusely, though she hadn't been hurt. He had been mortified he hadn't noticed her, despite the fact that it had been her that really hadn't been paying attention. He seemed, even on the surface, to be a mass of contrasts and confusions.

And of course, she'd heard the stories about him. Weirdo. Pyscho. Nutjob. She'd listened, intrigued, then turned her mind to dealing with her own life. Her problems. Her partners. Her tough as nails mind-set that didn't fit the little blonde looks. Not being what you looked like upset and unsettled most people, especially when they expected gentleness and charm and got a vicious sarcasm and a cynical attitude instead. Partners expected a sweet, soft Princess, and got the Ice Queen instead, and left, shaken and disgusted. In her way, she was becoming almost as much a pariah as Robert Goren.

And now, he was walking towards her. Suspiciously, she handed her perp over to a uniform to be sent to lock-up, and prepared to come face to face with Bobby Goren, the cop no-one wanted to work with.

Well, face to chest, anyway. But she was used to that. She'd always been the little one, and had used it to her advantage more than once. And she raised her chin, and crossed her arms and stared at Bobby Goren, and prepared to meet him on her own terms.

"Alexandra Eames?" he asked, a little shyly, in a surprisingly soft voice.

"Bobby Goren." She replied. He smiled a little, and shifted the tattered cardboard folder he carried from one hand to the other, and held out his hand to her. She took it, and shook it firmly.

"I need some help from Vice." He asked her, apparently reassured, "and I hear you're currently without a partner, and I wondered….

"If I'd help. Well, you should know, I'm 'currently without a partner' because I am not a soft-hearted, feminine little girl, despite looking like one. What's your excuse?"

He leaned forward a little, invading her personal space, but oddly enough, she didn't mind.

"Apparently, I'm a little strange." He admitted. She smiled.

"Fair enough. I need to get changed, then let's discuss your case."

He smiled delightedly, like a little boy given exactly what he wanted for Christmas. She gestured towards the door, and he walked towards it, but before she could follow him, someone reached out and held her back.

"You sure about this?" It was Stewart Patterson. Good-looking. Charming. Protective. Eames hated him. He touched her bare arm gently, running a single finger up and down, slowly. "I mean, the guy's a bit – you know – odd, and I worry about you with him. he's not safe." He said, in a stage whisper, in a soft tender tone, knowing Goren could hear him. She smiled sweetly.

"Patterson, if you ever touch me again, I'll break each and every one of your fingers. Slowly." She told him, clearly enough for everyone to hear. He snapped back, as if stung.

"Fine. Be like that." He groused.

She turned back to the door, and saw Goren waiting for her, cardboard file falling to pieces under his arm. He'd obviously seen the exchange, seen the atmosphere turn ugly, and there was a worried expression on his face, but he hadn't stepped forward and intervened. He'd left her to sort it out, had realised she wasn't as fragile as she looked. That was a good first step. He had faith in her. She smiled at him.

As they left the door, she heard Patterson say,

"Ice Queen and Nutjob. They deserve each other."

* * *

They went to the coffee shop across the road. She had changed into a tan suit, and sat down opposite him with a sigh, relieved to be out of the hooker outfit.

"Annoying, isn't it?" he asked, as she studied the menu.

"What?"

"How the women who work in Vice have to spend their days dressed as prostitutes, while the men continue to wear suits? It's always the woman out undercover, never the men."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"You're one of those?" she asked, warily. She'd known he was too good to be true.

"One of what?"

"Men who try you get on a woman's good side by sympathising with how difficult our lives are." She said scornfully. "All touchy-feely and sympathetic and 'I know how tough it is to be a woman'".

"No!" he said, genuinely shocked. "No, I was just, you know, trying to be nice."

"Well, good." She said, mollified. "Because really, the last thing I need is you telling me you get sympathy period pains with your girlfriend." She smiled tightly, showing it was a joke.

"No, I promise. I don't even have a girlfriend." He told her, glancing back down at his notes.

She nodded, satisfied, and slightly surprised he was alone. He hadn't seemed to mind the joke though. Most men hated the way she talked. The brush-offs, the cynical jokes. They thought she should be softer, empathise more, suffer more, feel deeper. The little blonde was supposed to play good cop. She wasn't supposed to enjoy playing the bad cop.

Apart from Bobby Goren, who so far seemed content just to her be who she was.

And why was she surprised he was alone, when he had such a reputation? Maybe because there was a gentleness about him, a yearning to protect and save and rescue. Maybe because he so obviously needed someone.

She ordered coffee, then asked about the case.

"Serial killer." He explained, between bites of his Danish. "Except, it's only been three deaths so far, so officially not a serial killer, yet. But getting there. And really, the only real actual common features are the physical similarity of the victims, so…"

"So you need me to play bait?" she asked. It was a part she'd played many times before. But he looked shocked.

"No, no, not you, sorry, I'm not explaining myself very well." He laid out the pictures of the victims in front of her. She picked up the photos one by one, and studied them closely.

First surprise – they were all men. Dark-haired, dark eyes, broad-shoulder, larger than average. She looked up at Goren.

"You're **my** protection." He said, in his soft voice. "You see...the victims.. They all look like me. I'm the bait."


	3. Reactions

Warnings for language, and other disgusting scenes.

* * *

That was a twist she hadn't expected. She suspected it would be the first of many unusual things about working with Bobby Goren.

She went through the files. Three men, all of the same physical type – Goren's type. Two had used prostitutes, but hadn't made a habit of it. They'd never visited the same prostitute. The third was gay. They'd been killed by a single knife stroke, from behind, across the arteries in the neck. Then the killer had taken a good long time to defile the bodies.

"Motive?" she asked.

"None that I can see." Goren told her. They'd taken over an empty office in the Major Crimes squad room, and had spread out all the files. Goren was scribbling something on a whiteboard. "Here," he said, leaning over, and pointing out something in one of the files. "there's no connection between the three of them at all, except the way they look."

"Yes, I can see." She said, annoyed for a second that he had though she needed that pointing out. He glanced over at her suddenly.

"Sorry." He said, sensing her anger. "I talk out loud, I know. I tend to use my partners as a sounding board. I know it can be annoying." He said meekly, praying he hadn't lost her already. He found himself liking this spiky, angry woman. She had a strength he felt he could lean on.

"I'm not annoyed." She said. "Talk out loud all you like.". She was more angry at herself for misinterpretating him - and surprised he'd seen it. She looked up at him, and nodded for him to continue. He smiled suddenly, briefly, and it was oddly sweet.

"So, no clues." She said. "The motive could be sexual."

"I doubt it."

"Sexual serial killers do tend to go for the same type." She insisted.

"But it's based on attraction." He told her, standing up, pointing down at the pictures. "Pretty young women, mostly."

"Well, these all men all seem attractive to me." she told him, not looking up. It was only a second later she realised that she'd just admitted she found him attractive. She swallowed, suddenly nervous, as she became aware that he had become very still, his normal nervous fidgeting frozen. She couldn't believe she'd been so stupid. She'd had more than a few male partners, and had never found any of them remotely attractive. Why she had to suddenly fancy the station-house nutjob was beyond her.

"But we'll go with your theory." She said, looking up, her voice sounding unnaturally bright. Best just to ignore it, pretend she'd never said it. "So, serial killers normally start with what they know, right?"

"Umm, right." He said, turning back to the whiteboard. He was pretty sure that he was reading something into what she'd just said that she'd never meant. It wasn't that women never found him attractive…he just couldn't imagine why Alex Eames would.

"I thought we'd go back, question the families and friends of the first victim." He told her. She got up and walked to the board, beside him.

"I get it." she said, hands on her hips, smiling at the deviousness of his plan. "You think the killer's one of them. And you're going to be around them a lot, looking like the dead guy, disturbing things…"

He nodded, sipping his coffee and trying to speak at the same time. It seemed like there were never enough minutes in the day for Bobby Goren, he always had to be trying to do at least two things at once.

"I'll provoke the reaction, you observe." He said, stuffing the files into the battered cardboard wallet and snapping an elastic band around it. she followed him out, smiling.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

The first victim was Steven Sherman, and Eames and Goren started at his parents house. Bobby Goren stood awkwardly in the family room, amongst the collection of delicate porcelain figurines that covered every table. He looked huge in the over-crowded room, towering over them all. Mrs Sherman looked terrified that the large policeman would clumsily step in the wrong direction and send one of her precious porcelain dolls crashing to the floor. She was constantly darting forward to sweep ornaments off any table Goren threatened to tip over, although Eames noticed, with amusement, that although Bobby appeared to move without any of his usual grace, he in fact managed to just miss knocking over or destroying any of the tiny fragile objects.

Apart from the delicate objects the room was littered with (and which appeared even more tiny against Bobby's bulk), the room was stuffed with people. A mother (too old for the killer, Eames thought), a father, a sister, a brother-in-law, a cousin – Steven Sherman had a huge family. There were lot of people here for Goren to provoke in his own inimitable manner. Smirking inwardly, Eames perched on the arm on the sofa and watched Bobby work.

He started by asking if any of them had known that Stephen visited prostitutes. That certainly got a reaction. Like all the dead, Stephen had taken a mantle of sainthood, and his family hated Goren for reminding them he had been a real, living, flesh and blood person with faults and needs and weaknesses.

But then again, the chances were good that at least one person in the room had known of Steven Sherman's faults and punished them, so Goren, seemingly unaware, blundered on, asking his questions with a carefully finessed clumsiness.

Alex watched their faces closely, noting all the responses carefully. Eager, disgusted, helpful, hidden. They paid no attention to the little woman in the corner, focusing only on the great blundering bear of a man, barging into their lives and trampling over their grief.

"I keep telling you, Stephen was well-loved. No-one would want to hurt him."

Bobby paused, one hand in the air, and Alex instinctively recognised her cue.

"Yes, well-loved, right up until the moment someone sliced him up. I'd say that was an act of someone who didn't love him wouldn't you?" she asked, disdainfully.

A stunned silence fell. Bobby turned round to face her. He smiled at her, not with his lips, but deep down in his intense dark eyes.

"You'll have to excuse her." He said to the room. "She doesn't really…she lacks tact." He continued in an undertone.

Eames understood the game. He had been upsetting the family, but now he needed to bond with them, to get closer to them. Eames would be the bad cop and they and he would team up against her. Fine by her. She played bad cop very well, and she enjoyed it.

"Tact is just a way of covering up the truth." Alex continued. "You all claimed to have loved him, but one of is lying, because one of you killed him."

"We have no proof of that." Goren said, making eye-contact with each of the family in turn, offering them empathy. Eames stood up.

"His throat was slit, his chest carved up, his genitals removed and stuffed into his mouth and someone here knows who did all that." She insisted, as if she was arguing with Goren. She was enjoying this, playing the game with a partner who gave her exactly the right cues, and let her take the harsher role. This was so different.

"But I thought it was a serial killer?" the sister – Rebecca- ventured, meekly.

"How do you know that?" Bobby said, suddenly turning on her again. She glanced nervously at her husband. "That fact hasn't been released to the media."

"In other words, only the killer would know about the supposed 'serial killer'" Eames said.

"No!" Rebecca shrieked. "The other policeman, the one you bought before, he told me!"

Goran sighed. His previous partner had never believed one of the family was responsible. No doubt he had been trying to be comforting, letting them know Stephen was killed by a stranger.

"Thanks, I'll see myself out." Goren said. Eames paused, looking back once over the room. Rebecca had panicked herself into an asthma attack, her husband, with audience-aware patience, helped her with her inhaler.

"Thanks." Bobby said, once they were outside. "Sorry my old partner screwed things up, but you were good in there."

"It felt good." She told him. "I'm enjoying this."

* * *

Later, they sat in the office they'd taken as their own room, going over the files falling out of the shabby cardboard folder.

"I'd say you stirred them up." Eames said, satisfied, going over her notes of her impressions. The father had barely spoken at all, but had glared at Goren with a still, burning hatred. The mother had hated him too, but she expressed it in subtle, biting little insults she thought Goren was too stupid to catch. The cousin – David- had never looked at either of them, keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched. It could have been grief, guilt or just shyness.

"Oh, I'd better give you these." Goren said suddenly, handing over a set of keys to Alex. She looked puzzled. "Keys to my apartment."

Alex took them dubiously. She'd had partners before who'd insisted they swap keys to each other's apartments 'just in case', and ended up drunk and trying to get in at 3am.

"Well, if the killer takes the bait…I mean, if I don't turn up tomorrow morning…" Goren said, stammering to a halt, trying to find a way to deny what she was plainly thinking without admitting he'd realised it.

"You want me to come looking for you." She said slowly. He nodded, satisfied. He leaned over the table, staring intensely at her.

"See, when I saw you…I knew the minute I met you, I knew you were the type that would never stop looking and never let anyone stand in the way."

"I'd never stop looking for you?"

"No, the killer." He said, standing up and gathering the files together as if he hadn't just said the most accurate insight into her character she'd ever heard.

"What if you're the one in the way? Between me and the killer?" she asked, shaken and curious.

"Then I'll expect you'll just go straight through me too." He said, leaving, trying to stop the files falling out of the cardboard wallet.

She sat there for a moment, stunned…then smiled slowly. She'd been called a ball-breaking bitch before, but never with such admiration. He liked it. Whatever it was that other detectives didn't like about her, he liked it.

And, grabbing her coat, Eames decided, in spite of all the reasons why she shouldn't, she liked Goren too.


	4. Working Together

Warnings for language, and other disgusting scenes.

* * *

Bobby Goren turned up for work next morning. Toby Shift, 30, bank clerk, 6 feet 2, dark hair, dark eyes, did not.

Goren and Eames met beside the body. Looking across at each other, confusion in Bobby's eyes, barely controlled anger in Alex's. Not anger at Goren. Despite her reputation for coldness, Alex cared. She was angry each time a life was ripped away unwillingly. But her anger never expressed itself in empathy, or a hot temper, but a steel-like, controlled rage.

"It should have been me." Goren said, miserably. "I provoked them"

"I'm glad it wasn't." She said, reaching out to him and leading him away from the body. "We'll work this out. Let's get some coffee."

Bobby felt the death heavily. Always one to take the blame, this time he felt as if he himself was the killer, as if he had caused Toby Shift's horrific death.

But the load on his shoulder was lifted as soon as Eames had led him away. As soon as she had said 'we'. He hadn't known there was anybody in the world who could do that. That could penetrate his shell and reach right through to the very heart of him, and soothe his pain. As he watched her cross the road ahead of him, he realised he didn't want to let that go.

But then again, he couldn't see any way to make her stay.

* * *

"Lets look at this from a different angle." She said, once they were sat down and supplied with coffee. "We've been looking for connections, right?" 

"There are none, apart from the physical characteristics of the victims." Goren said, hunched up opposite her, watching her intently, following where she led.

"And we are agreed it's a serial killer, and one who chooses victims based on looks. And it's normally the first victim who is covered in clues – the killer's not quite prepared, he's flustered, maybe it's even a spontaneous act. We should go back and look at the actual hard evidence the CSU's got from his scene and body."

"Stephen was first, but there was no real physical evidence."

"We're sure he's the first.?"

"Certain. I've checked the past 20 years. Most murder victims don't even look like him."

"Must be a relief." Eames said dryly.

"What is?"

"That men like you hardly ever get murdered."

* * *

It was a long and frustrating day. paperwork was done, and quickly shuffled aside. Files and scraps of paper and notes were taken out of Bobby's cardboard folder, which was developing a rip all along one side, and had to be held together with tape. Yet despite the intense work, and total concentration, and Eames new gaze on everything, nothing new was discovered, from any angle. Stephen's brother-in-law owned a construction company called Treaty Trading Construction – where absolutely nothing noteworthy had ever happened. Rebecca, Stephen's sister, had been in analysis for years. 

"Her and half of NY. Woody Allen has a lot to answer for." Eames pointed out.

Stephen had left home at 16.

"Well, why not?" Goren had said.

David had never done anything. Worked as a store clerk, didn't seem to have a girlfriend, had a nice quiet life.

"A perfectly normal guy. Just like all serial killers." Eames noted, but there was no real evidence against him. Stephen's father had a lot of speeding tickets, Stephen's mother had a lot of parking tickets, but that was all.

All in all, an almost wasted day.

But not totally wasted, because the more they worked together, the more they realised they enjoyed it. Goren was used to blank stares when he expounded his theories. Eames was used to looks of distaste as she indulged her fatalistic sense of humour. Neither was used to respect. Neither was used to an intelligence as sharp as their own. But as the day passed, and they listened intently to one another, laughed at incomprehensible jokes, picked up hints and traded possible clues, they bonded. They began to realise that, defective as others saw them, together they fitted perfectly, and formed a flawless whole. Alex was beginning to realise that she really, really didn't want to go back to Vice, and she'd be ecstatic if she never had to dress up as a hooker ever again.

And Bobby was beginning to realise that the perfect really was out there, and she was sitting right opposite him. And maybe, just maybe, he'd even found that rare creature – a friend.

"I have a friend who works in corporate fraud." Alex said. "I'll get her to check out Treaty Trading Construction.". Alex glanced at her watch, and was surprised to find it was seven in the evening.

"You think there's something wrong there?" Goren asked.

"No." she admitted. "But we've tried every other angle. Can't hurt to give it a try."

"Ok." He sighed. He got up, and out on his jacket. He dropped a hand on her shoulder as he left, just lightly, as he said goodbye.

Normally, she hated to be touched. It was an invasion of her personal space, and she hated that. Not to mention that most men touched her as a precursor to making a pass.

But not with Bobby. His touch had been nothing more than a reassuring warmth, not invasive or sexual, just a reassuring contact.

She liked it.

* * *

Bobby turned as he left, looked back at Alex, still bent over the paperwork, as committed to this case as if she'd been on it since day one. He couldn't understand why she had been nicknamed the Ice Queen. Couldn't anyone else see the passion and fire in her? She may not have been gentle, or sweet, or kind, or anything they expected her to be, but no victim could ever have asked for a more devoted fighter for justice. 

He liked that.

* * *

Deakins watched Goren leave, smiling at Alex as he walked out the door. In fact, he'd been watching him all day. Maybe, he'd finally found a solution to the problem of Bobby Goren. 

Deakins sat down, picked up the phone, and put a call through to Vice.


	5. Gone

Warnings for language, and other disgusting scenes.

* * *

Alex was in early the next morning, eager to start work. There was a fax waiting for her. She read it, and smiled. Another step towards closing the case. She turned to tell Goren, then realised he wasn't there.

She frowned and glanced at her watch. It was early. She'd give him another hour.

She spent an hour doing paperwork, and glancing at her watch every ten minutes. She desperately wanted to tell him her discovery. Every time the door to the squad room opened, she glanced up, each time expecting to see his graceful bulk striding towards her, eager to hear her news.

But it was never him.

When Deakins came in and saw her worried face and Goren's empty chair, he gave her Goren's number, and suggested she call.

There was no answer. Cold chills began to inch their way down her spine. They'd thought he was out of danger once Toby Shift was dead. They thought the bait had been refused. She was supposed to protect him, and she'd left him alone.

She broke more than a few speeding laws getting to his apartment. She unlocked the door, fumbling with the unfamiliar keys, and came through the door in classic shooter stance.

Empty. Every room, heartbreakingly clean and neat. Every book neatly shelved, and every cupboard carefully closed. His laundry was folded, his dishes washed and precisely shelved. The only thing out of place was the half-eaten TV dinner on the table, next to the battered cardboard file, that had finally disintegrated, and the spilled it's contents over the floor. The cd player was still on, spilling Bach softly into the empty room.

Bobby Goren's spirit was still here, in the carefully chosen books, and the carefully ordered cd's and the papers scattered all over the carefully vacuumed floor. But Bobby Goren's body was long gone.

She called Deakins, reported Goren's disappearance in clipped, official tones. Gently he told her it wasn't her fault. She listened silently, then put the phone down.

CSU would be here in minutes, but they wouldn't find anything. They never had, at any of the scenes. No sign of struggle or a skirmish, nothing to leave any evidence behind. Whatever happened, they'd gone with their killer willingly.

And so had Bobby Goren. Except he must have known. Must have realised when he opened the door that whoever stood there wanted him dead. And still he'd opened the door, and gone with his kidnapper, trusting Alex to find the killer, to find him.

She firmly pushed the panic down.

"I **will** find him. I will **not** lose him."

* * *

The others had died within twelve hours of being taken. Allowing time for him to get home and start dinner, he was probably taken around nine. That left her an hour and a half to find him. And with the information she'd gotten that morning, she knew where to start.

Ignoring the outraged glances from the neighbours, she banged repeatedly on Tony Schaffer's door until, bleary-eyed, he opened up.

Tony Schaffer. Rebecca's husband. Owner of Treaty Trading Construction. Which, she'd learnt that morning, just happened to be a cover company for other companies that were slightly less pure than the driven slush.

"What?" he asked, concealing a yawn.

"Police. Open up." She said shortly, pushing past him.

"At this hour? What the hell is going on?"

"Did he know?" she demanded, looking round the scruffy rooms.

"Who? Know what?"

"Stephen!" she said contemptuously. "Did he know that your company was a cover for other fly-by-night construction companies that like to kill their workers, especially the non-union ones?"

"No! I don't know…" his voice drifted off, as he pushed his hand through his sleep ruffled hair.

"My partner is missing." She snarled. "He knew I would destroy anybody that got in the way of my finding him, and right now, you're in my way."

Tony Schaffer looked into her angry eyes, and quailed. Any defence or courage he'd ever had crumbled.

"Yeah, Stephen knew." He admitted quietly.

"So, you killed him." she accused. "And then you killed the others, to make it look like he was just the random victim of a serial killer."

"No, I swear!" he held his hands, protesting his innocence, but she grabbed him and shoved him up against the wall.

"Except nothing is random." She continued, as if she wasn't seconds away from choking him. "And now you have my partner. Where is he? If he dies, I swear you'll pay."

"No, my God, how could you think that?" he coughed. She loosened her grip a little.

"Because all the bodies were held and discovered in properties owned by TTC. Your company."

He swallowed dryly.

"I had nothing to do with that. And I don't have your partner. I didn't even know he was missing!"

Alex watched him closely. His panic had the ring of truth. She let him go.

"Oh, I know, the companies all had different names, but in the end they trace back to you. You want to help? I need a list of all the properties owned by your company. And I mean all."

He walked over to the bureau, and started to look through papers, muttering to himself. He moved so slowly, Alex was tempted to pull out her gun and prod him to move faster. Every second was vital, and they were ticking away so fast.

"You know, Stephen deserved it." he said, finally handing the list over to Alex.

"How's that?" she asked, glancing over the list, only half-listening. There were so many places…

"What he did to Rebecca, when they were young."

Alex glanced up sharply. She looked around, and realised Rebecca wasn't there, that she wasn't in the house at all. She looked at Tony, small and blond, the total antithesis of Bobby. She flashed back to Rebecca, having an asthma attack as Bobby leaned over her.

"He abused her." Alex realised.

Tony nodded, confidentially.

"Oh fuck." She whispered, running out of the house. Everything had changed. She'd assumed that the killer was relatively stable, killing only to cover up Stephen's death. But a sexually abused woman, who'd snapped, and killed not only her abuser, but everyone who looked like him – she was wildly unstable. Anything could be happening to Bobby. And there was only an hour left.

* * *

She looked down at the list of properties. There were so many, all over the city. And she had no guarantee he'd even been in more of these places. Half-completed apartments, empty warehouses, docks – he could be anywhere. Goren was relying on her to find him, and she had no idea where to start.

"He's dying." She whispered. "You have to find him."

There was no time for logic. Alex decided to try pure blind luck instead. She closed her eyes, waved her finger over the list, and picked an address at random.

* * *

It was an apartment block, scheduled for demolition. She considered calling back-up, but reasoned she had no actual proof Bobby was here, just instinct, and a faith in blind luck.

Inside, all the windows were boarded up, but loosely, so sunshine shone through the cracks. Dust floated through the air, giving the empty building a dreamy, unreal quality. Every move she made kicked up new swirls of dust that scattered on the curling linoleum, and the peeling peach paint. And in the dust, she saw tracks.

And blood.

That was when she called for back-up.


	6. Trust

Warnings for language, and other disgusting scenes.

* * *

She decided not to wait. Any second now, Bobby's time was going to be up. He was in there, bleeding, hurt, and waiting for her. Depending on her. She drew her gun, and followed the trail of blood.

Rebecca must have heard her coming up. Every sound echoed hollowly though the building. The sound of traffic outside was deadened, almost as if there was nothing in the whole world but Alex, Rebecca, and the man tied to the chair in front of her, bleeding, a knife to his throat.

Bobby was still alive. Now all Alex had to do was get him out alive. She could do it. She had to. She was the Ice Queen, and she always got the bad guy.

Alex raised her gun, but Rebecca had knelt down, using Bobby's body to shield herself, so Alex couldn't get a clear shot.

"I'll kill him." Rebecca whispered hoarsely. The light in her eyes was bitter and brittle and bright, and the knife had already cut a thin line across Bobby's throat, right above the carotid artery. Just half an inch down, and he would bleed to death before Alex had a chance to reach him. And Rebecca's hand shook as she pressed the knife to his throat.

Alex tried to think of the one thing to say that would make Rebecca put the knife down, but her mind had gone blank. Talking killers round had never been her strong point anyway. She didn't know her eyes had a very clear message. 'He dies, you die'.

"I thought she was going to confess. I thought she was going to lead me to Tony." Goren said, looking up at Eames, explaining himself. Rebecca pushed the knife a little further into his throat. Alex inched a little closer, trying to find a clear shot.

"Rebecca." Eames called. "This is not Stephen. He's done nothing to you."

"I know that." Rebecca countered, her voice low and rough. She was wheezing a little, her asthma triggered by the dust.

"Then you should let him go."

"Why?" Rebecca spat the words out, her hand shaking. "He's just like Stephen and all the others. Maybe not yet, but he will be. Bit by bit, he'll become just like them. He will, they all will."

"Ok…ok." Alex soothed, trying to be sympathetic, while wanting nothing more than to rip the bitch's throat out. She felt sorry for Rebecca the victim, but she wasn't going to let that blind her to the fact that Rebecca was trying to kill Goren. The knife twitched, and a little more blood flowed. It was pooling under that chair, from his throat, from a slash on his chest, soaking the ropes that bound him. So much blood, and all his.

"Men can be evil." Alex agreed. "But not this man. I know him. He's not like the others. He's a good man. He doesn't deserve to die."

Bobby watched Alex, through the pain, calmly. She could see the utter absolute faith he had in her, and prayed she would live up to it.

"They all deserve to die. They all will." Rebecca spat. Eames tried to think of an answer, but she had nothing. No way to save the man relying on her, the man she was supposed to protect.

"She'll kill you." Goren said, and Alex realised he was talking to Rebecca, not her. His voice was weak and thready, and she knew he was close to passing out from loss of blood. There wasn't much time left. She had to act. But what could she do?

"She's an Ice Queen." Goren continued, slowly, quietly, smiling a little. "She doesn't care about me. She'll kill you."

Eames looked into Goren's eyes, reading the message there, then looked back at the knife. It was cutting deeply into the flesh, as Rebecca watched Eames, frowning, unsure of what was happening. The knife was so close to his windpipe. He was going to die, and still Alex had no clear shot.

"She'll go through anything to get her killer." Goren continued, and his eyes, as dark as night, as dark as death, looked straight into her soul, and she knew what she had to do. "She'll even go straight through me." he said softly, calmly, smiling. He met Alex's horrified gaze, and whispered,

"I trust you."

Alex fired. Bobby's body jerked as the bullet passed through his shoulder, and into Rebecca, and the knife, finally, thank God, flew away from his throat. Rebecca fell, killed by the bullet Alex had shot through Bobby.


	7. Giftgiving

She stood by the window, coffee cup in hand, staring unseeingly at the hospital parking lot. IA had come and taken her gun, and after a word with Carver, had left. Carver told her it'd all be okay, she'd done the only thing she could, and a serial killer was dead. She hadn't reacted beyond a brief nod. Now Carver had gone, and Deakins sat on the hospital chairs, leaning forward, hands swinging loosely between his knees, watching Alex.

He's made enquiries about getting her transferred to Major Crimes. If she requested it, and once the IA investigation cleared her (and he was sure it would), she'd be fast-tracked to Bobby's side, his new partner. As far as Deakins was concerned, she was practically part of his team already – one of his own.

"He'll be fine." Deakins said, leaning back in his chair. Alex said nothing, just stared out into the cold winter day.

"He told them he told you to fire through him, so IA should be okay."

Her coffee had gone cold in her hand ages ago, but still she didn't move. Stood there by the window, the clear winter light framing her face, making her look like a statue

"Your shot went through and through. Hit nothing vital. It's probably the least of his injuries."

She only blinked, once.

"He survives. Always will."

Still she was only still. Sighing, he got up and replaced her cold coffee with a fresh cup. Startled, she looked up at him.

"You should come work with him." he told her. "He's been at his best the past few days, with you."

"I shot him." she said dully.

"Good. Probably did him a world of good.".

He sat down again. He'd be proud to have her as part of his team, but it was going to be difficult. Nutjob and Ice Queen, all the way. Difficult, awkward, demanding, - and rewarding. He had a feeling they might be the best team he'd ever have.

"You can go in." The doctor finally said. Deakins stepped back to speak to the doctor, and motioned Alex to go in without him. She picked up a parcel, and walked in.

"Hey." Goren said, smiling as she came in. He was propped up in the bed, one arm in a sling, looking pale but alive.

"Hey." She said, trying to sound her usual calm, cool self. She ignored the chair and sat on the bed instead. "Sorry I shot you." She said, trying to make it sound like a joke, though her eyes were strained, and full of pain.

"It's what I expected you to do." He told her. "It's what I needed you to do."

"Still, I am sorry. And I got you a present."

She handed him the parcel. He carefully unpicked the wrapping, unwillingly to tear it, but impatience won, and he ripped it off. She took the paper, as he held up the present, delightedly.

"I like it!" he said, smiling at her, in that shy sweet way, that was just beginning to twist at her heart. It was a brown leather document case, with paper, and a place for his pens, and plenty of room for all those files and photos and notes he liked to carry around.

"I got sick of the cardboard file." She explained.

"Thank you. It's…it's perfect." He said, watching her, his eyes so dark she could have drowned in them. "It's not a going away present, is it?" he asked anxiously.

"I have to go back to Vice." She said, reluctantly. "I'm already in enough trouble, what with shooting you. It's best to keep my head down for a while.". He took her hand where it lay on the sheet, absent-mindedly, as if he were unaware of the feel of her delicate hand in his.

"I was hoping you'd stay." He said.

She looked at him, unsure of what to do or say.

"I'm…I'm used to you." He said, shrugging. He glanced down, and realised he was holding onto her hand. He let go, embarrassed. "I want you…to stay.". He looked up at her, his eloquent eyes more pleading then any words could ever have been.

And Eames sat there, and thought about how it was back in Vice, and how she'd never really belonged anyway until she'd met Goren, even more of an outsider than she was, and how exciting and fulfilling the last few days had been, and she gave into the pleading. She smiled, and took his hand.

"Ok." She said. "I'll stay. You got me, Bobby Goren."

THE END


End file.
